


A Favour Owed

by A_mug_of_tea_is_all_I_need



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Assassin Jack, BAMF Jack, F/M, Grumpy ASter, M/M, Morally Ambiguous Character, Multi, lots of magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2018-12-04 18:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11561082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_mug_of_tea_is_all_I_need/pseuds/A_mug_of_tea_is_all_I_need
Summary: Jack Frost was different from other winter spirits in the way that he didn’t kill humans for fun. Or enjoyed inflicting pain on others. Still, that didn’t mean he was an especially good person.  In fact, you could say he was...morally ambiguous. Yeah, Jack smirked, morally ambiguous, he liked that.





	1. A Visit From Your Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first rotg fic and I'm not quite sure where it's going so go easy on me.

Jack Frost was different from other winter spirits in the way that he didn’t kill humans for fun. Or enjoyed inflicting pain on others. Still, that didn’t mean he was an especially good person.  In fact, you could say he was...morally ambiguous _. Yeah_ , Jack smirked, _morally ambiguous_ , he liked that.

You see, Jack was an assassin. He might not kill humans but spirits? Well, they were an entirely different matter. He didn’t work for money-what use would that be to him anyway? The spirit world didn’t have a coin based currency.  No, Jack worked for favours.  

Any spirit, god, vampire, sprite etc could purchase Jack’s services and in return, they must promise him a single favour. It could be a place to hide if he was in trouble, an object or a book, a piece of knowledge only they knew, a whisper in the ear of someone powerful, anything. That was the point-it could be _anything_. You never knew what Jack Frost was going to ask of you, you never knew when and you never knew why.

All you knew was that he would never forget the favour he was owed.

Considering this, it might be asked why someone would ever require Jack’s particular skills. Surely the price was simply too high. However, Jack never failed. Never. Once the deal was struck, he pursued his target with single minded ruthlessness and no matter how fast, how far they ran, it was never quite fast or far enough.

Jack Frost always succeeded in the end.

So then, a truly desperate person might decide that, whatever Jack might ask of them, it was worth it.

And so, by spring 2012, Jack had amassed a truly impressive number of favours and that was when Pitch Black turned up at his door.

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jack Frost, contrary to popular opinion, didn’t live in a castle of ice. He didn’t even live anywhere that was particularly cold. No, Jack’s house was a very comfortable, cosy even, cottage on the Isle of Man. It was not particularly out of the ordinary, having three bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchen and a living room. All these rooms were decorated tastefully, designed for comfort and perfectly mundane.

There were a few _unusual_ features however.

For one, the cupboard under the stairs was actually a library and a rather large one at that. If you weren’t used to it, it was rather disorientating to enter and find the room much bigger on the inside than you were expecting.

Then, attached to the kitchen was a small utility room full of scientific equipment and hundreds of ingredients used to distil poisons and other unpleasant, useful things.

Finally, there was the wardrobe in Jack’s bedroom. This wardrobe, like many wardrobes, contained clothes. However, unlike many wardrobes, the clothes within weren’t truly clothes but _disguises,_ with outfits suitable for everything from fighting to dancing to sneaking into the Summer Queen’s Court.

Jack’s cottage was also probably one of the most well warded places in the world. He’d used many of the favours owed to him to extract layers upon layers of protective wards from a variety of different magic users and, of course, added his own, until it was practically impenetrable. This meant that , when Jack opened the door (painted a beautiful pastel blue)- answering a polite but insistent knocking- to see the King of Nightmares on his doorstep, he was almost certain that if he slammed the door in Pitch’s face, he wouldn’t be able to get in.

However, he didn’t slam the door. Instead, Jack smiled sunnily, gestured for the man to come in, showed him to the lounge and asked him to wait. He’d then gone to the foot of the stairs and, loud enough for Pitch to hear, yelled-

“JACK! Client.”

He’d just taken up a seat on a windowsill, close enough to Pitch that he could have a knife to his throat in the blink of an eye, when an imposing man stalked into the room, breezed past Pitch without a glance and proceeded to drape himself over a chair.

Jack’s sharp eyes monitored every movement the Nightmare King made whilst maintaining an air of sleepy laziness from where he was lounging on a windowsill. He watched as Pitch slowly approached the man he thought was Jack Frost.

It was not hard to see why Pitch thought this. Sprawled arrogantly in a chair that was almost throne-like, the man practically screamed danger. Hard eyes gleamed out from a lean face, one side of which was covered in swirling whorls of black ink, and his lips were twisted into a smirk that promised pain. Wicked looking knives hung from a belt around his waist and he looked at Pitch like he was considering the best way to dismember him.

In contrast, Jack looked harmless, laid out on the windowsill as he was, eyelids lowered so it almost looked like he was asleep and his innocent looking shepherd’s crook leant on the wall beside his head.

So of course, Pitch could not be blamed for believing it was the man in the chair who was the feared assassin. And of course, this was exactly what Jack wanted him to believe, just as he wanted everyone else to believe it too. It was no good being an assassin if you were instantly recognisable.

The man in the chair was actually a Light Elf called Quillem or ‘Quill’ for short and whilst handy in a fight, he was in fact a big softie, despite his terrifying appearance.

A couple of centuries ago, Quillem’s mate had caught the eye of Apep, the ancient Egyptian God of evil, darkness and destruction. Happily bonded to Quill, they had politely told Apep that they were flattered but uninterested. As it turns out, ancient gods’ of evil don’t take rejection particularly well. When Quillem found the body, it was barely recognisable but it was clear that their death had been neither quick, nor painless. Wanting revenge, Quill tried to track Apep down but found that the god was a little too powerful for him. He was however, not too powerful for Jack Frost.

Jack had enjoyed that hunt. Had enjoyed the look of surprise in Apep’s eyes as he struck the killing blow and had enjoyed the satisfaction on Quillem’s face when he dumped the body in front of him. The bastard had deserved it.

Of course, just because he’d enjoyed it, didn’t mean Quillem got his services for free and the man had owed Jack the customary favour. So when, sometime around 1850, Jack had realised the rumours about him were becoming too dangerous, making him too recognisable, he had called in that favour. Quillem had become the ‘public’ face of Jack Frost. The one prospective clients met, the one people learnt to fear and cower from. As far as anyone knew, he _was_ Jack Frost.

The only ones to ever know the truth were Jack’s targets and, well, they were hardly going to tell anyone.

Originally, Quillem had only meant to take on the role for a century and then Jack would consider his debt paid. However the years passed and Quillem became Quill, and Quill became a friend and when the hundred years were up, Quill had just looked at Jack, shrugged and never left. Jack was thankful and for more reasons than because it made keeping his true identity hidden easier.

Now, Jack watched as Quill did an excellent job of appearing completely unbothered as Pitch finally reached him and began looking the Elf up and down, open contempt on his face.

“So, you’re the notorious Jack Frost, the one who inspires such delicious fear.” It wasn’t quite a question and huh, Jack hadn’t expected the British accent.

Quill’s smirk widened and he spread his hands as if to say _yep, that’s me_.

“I expected more.”

In reply, Quill appraised Pitch, raising an eyebrow. “And I didn’t expect such a cliché” Jack didn’t bother to smother his laugh, ignoring the annoyed glance Pitch shot him but before the Nightmare King could reply, Quill continued. “Didn’t expect you at all actually. To what do I owe this _honour_?” Quill’s tone made it obvious he thought Pitch’s visit was anything but.

Pitch looked annoyed once more, _probably upset we’re not paying him the proper respect or something_ , thought Jack. He couldn’t bring himself to be terribly upset by the fact.

Bringing himself under control, Pitch managed to grind out, “It’s a rather private matter.” He waved a hand at Jack, “Perhaps you should ask your...” The man paused, yellow eyes glinting and voice turning sly, “What exactly is he? Your servant? Lover? Whore?”

Quill snarled and leapt to his feet, real anger in his eyes. Pitch chuckled darkly.

“Hit a nerve have I?”

Deciding to give Quill sometime to collect himself, Jack stood as well, holding his staff loosely in his left hand. He smiled at Pitch.

“Not at all,” Jack kept his face pleasant, “And of course, I’d be happy to give you two some privacy.” Just before he left the room, Jack shot a look at Quill. It was a reminder to keep his head. The Elf nodded almost imperceptibly to show he understood and then Jack was out of the door.

Out of sight, Jack grinned. Pitch was a fool if he thought that just because he wasn’t in the room, it meant he wouldn’t be able to hear their conversation.

Entering the kitchen, Jack placed the kettle on the hob and two cups on a tray, along with a teapot, a milk jug and some sugar. Then, he removed a vial of magenta liquid from a pocket in his trousers. It was one of several he carried on him at all times. Tipping the vial back, he swallowed the foul tasting liquid in one go.

Instantly, everything became louder. Jack could hear the smallest of sounds, from that of a car engine fifteen miles away to that of kestrel’s heartbeat high above him. More importantly, he could hear Quill and Pitch as if they were speaking right next to him. Leaning against one of the countertops, Jack settled down to listen.

“You’re joking.” That was definitely Quill and he sounded uncertain, unnerved even. Jack was immediately on guard.

“I assure you, I am not. Surely you are aware of my long standing enmity with those fools.” Pitch practically spat the last word.

“Yes, but they’re the Guardians!”

Jack hummed, thinking. So that’s what this was about, the Guardians. Interesting.

When Jack had woken up three hundred years ago, the last battle between Pitch and the Guardians had already reached its conclusion-and not in Pitch’s favour. For most of Jack’s time as a spirit, Pitch had been locked up. Obviously he was free now, and apparently out for revenge.

“Come now, I didn’t think that the great Jack Frost would scare at the mere mention of those glorified guard dogs,” Pitch’s tone was mocking.

“I’m not scared but I’m not fucking suicidal either!”

Jack frowned. Quill was overdoing it a bit. Did he really think Jack couldn’t handle the Guardians?

“I’m not asking you to hand me all of their heads on a platter. In fact, I have my own plans for most of them,” as he said this, Pitch’s voice became darkly gleeful, “No, all I ask of you is that you take care of that bumbling idiot North. He and his yetis could cause me quite a few problems if allowed to run free.”

Jack frowned again. Pitch had ‘plans’, what did that mean? What was the Nightmare King up to? The whistling of the kettle interrupted Jack’s musings and he hurried to pour the water. Once he had done so, he picked up the tray and walked back to the lounge, knocking before entering.

Both Quill and Pitch whipped round to face him. Jack held up his tray by way of explanation.

“Thought you might like some tea,” he said cheerily, pretending not to notice Pitch’s scowl. After he set the tray down on a small table near Quill’s now abandoned chair, Jack used one of his now free hands to sweep his hair back from his eyes before leaving the room. It was a casual gesture, not suspicious in the least but he knew Quill would understand his message. Pitch was, after all, not the first to request a private meeting with ‘Jack Frost’ so Jack and Quill had had to develop a method of communication that didn’t require words. Instead, Jack would enter at strategic moments and, through a language of hand signs and gestures only known to them, would communicate what he wanted Quill to do.

He had just told Quill to tell Pitch yes, he would kill Nicholas St North, Guardian of Wonder, more commonly known as Santa Claus.

Jack didn’t pay much attention to Quill and Pitch’s conversation after that. He simply sat in the kitchen thinking. He new what Quill would be saying anyway. He’d be establishing what the time frame was, if there was a specific way Pitch wanted it done, if he wanted to strike the final blow himself etc. Quill could just tell him all that stuff later anyway.

He did however come to attention when he felt the Bargain snap into place, meaning that Quill and Pitch had struck a deal.  The Bargain was an old magic that bound Jack to his patrons and them to him. Once a deal was made, the Bargain forged a bond between Jack and the other involved, linking them until both had fulfilled their end of the deal. It was this magic that ensured Jack could always collect his favours. For instance, if Jack had done what was asked and killed whoever he needed to kill and then gone to collect his favour only to be refused, the Bargain would come to life, causing the indebted unimaginable pain until they gave in and did what Jack asked of them. If they still refused, the Bargain killed them. It was a strong incentive, for the Bargain was nigh on unbreakable once made and could not be escaped except through the most drastic of measures.

Jack knew this. He also knew that it was not only his patrons who were bound by the Bargain. If, for whatever reason Jack would not, or could not, uphold his end of the deal, well, he’d be subjected to the same excruciating treatment until he either gave in or died.

Jack sighed.

 


	2. A Friendly Warning

Jack tipped his chair back from the table, balancing it on two legs and basked in the warm sunlight streaming through the window. For whatever reason, people saw Jack's wintry appearance and immediately assumed he couldn't appreciate warmth. This was not true. In fact, he was quite partial to beautiful spring days such as the one he was currently enjoying.

He allowed his eyes to slowly drift shut, still mulling over the Nightmare King's recent visit. He didn't open them even when he sensed Quillem enter the room and take a seat opposite him.

Unlike many spirits, Jack's position concerning Pitch was ambiguous. He didn't hate him, nor did he fear him, however that wasn't to say Jack liked Pitch and, if he were being honest, Jack would have liked nothing more than to refuse any contract the Nightmare King had offered him-just to piss him off. After all, one of Jack's favourite past times was pissing off people he really rather shouldn't. However, this contract was one Jack simply had had to accept.

Coming out of his thoughts, Jack finally deigned to open his eyes and look at Quill.

"Did he agree to the usual terms?"� Jack didn't need to ask if Pitch had even made a deal at all for he could already feel the ancient magic of the Bargain linking them both.

"Yes. Nicholas St North must be killed within the next four days and in return, you will be owed a favour by Pitch Black."�

Jack's eyes snapped open, his chair slammed forward until all four legs once more rested on the ground. "Four days. You're sure?"�

Quill frowned. "I'm sure. He didn't stipulate anything else but he repeated that multiple times." He shrugged, "I don't see why it's all that important. You've worked to tighter deadlines."�

"Easter. Four days from now is April 8th-Easter Sunday."�

Jack sprang to his feet, automatically reaching for his staff, and began to pace back and forth. He'd been right, Pitch was up to something far bigger than simply eliminating the Guardian of Wonder. Â Unconsciously, his feet left the floor. Quill hid a smile, sometimes thought Jack felt far more comfortable in the air than he ever did on the ground.

Meanwhile, Jack's mind raced. Pitch had mentioned he had plans for the Guardians and with Easter so close, it made sense he would strike then. Easter symbolised new life, new hope and if it was ruined, it would not just be the Guardian of Hope who was weakened but all of them. It would be no hard task to pick them off one by one whilst they were so weak.

It was what Jack would have done.

 _And Pitch must want North out of the way beforehand to avoid any complications_ , Jack thought. This was wise. Jack knew from experience just how dangerous North's yetis could be, although he'd never fought the ex-bandit king himself.

Jack was even gladder he'd accepted the contract now. This would go along way to settle his debt.

Mind made up, Jack paused his aerial pacing, turning to look at Quill who raised an eyebrow, obviously wanting an explanation. Instead of giving him one, Jack just smiled his customary shit eating grin and flew straight into one of the full length mirrors he kept in every room, calling over his shoulder-

"I'll be back in time for tea!"�

Quill, used to his friend's behaviour after over a century of co-habitation, simply sighed in annoyance and decided to set about doing the washing up. He knew it would never occur to Jack to do it.

                                                                                                                                     ****************************

The mirrors were one of Jack's preferred methods of travel. He loved flying but could admit it wasn't always practical for long distances, hence the mirrors. He'd learnt the trick of mirror travelling from a rather strange sorcerer who went by the name Xaviera. She'd had paler skin than even him and four eyes which were all pupil and no iris. In truth, Jack had been a bit freaked out by her-not that he'd let it show. She'd wanted one of her seventeen sisters killed and Jack had been happy to oblige, in return for his usual favour of course. In this case, he'd wanted to learn the secret of mirror travel and Xaviera, bound by the magic of the Bargain, had gave it to him.

For one who knows how to mirror travel, almost any mirror is a potential portal. One merely steps (or, as in Jack's case, flies) into whatever mirror is convenient and into the mirrorworld. The world on the other side of mirrors is a strange place. Outside of time, dark and confusing, it is easy to get lost in. However, one who knows how to navigate it can simply enter one mirror and exit from another thousands of miles away instantly. If one is a particularly skilled mirrorworld traveller, it does not even have to be a mirror that is used but rather any reflective surface- like water for instance.

It went without saying that Jack was one such particularly skilled person. And so it was that Jack was able to fly into the mirror in his kitchen in the Isle of Man only to reappear moments later bursting out of a lake near the town of Burgess on a whole other continent.

Jack liked Burgess, and he especially liked the children there. They were always up for a good snowball fight. Sadly, Jack didn't have time for such antics today, not when he had a certain giant lagomorph to find.

Calling the Wind to him, he circled the woods which surrounded the lake, looking for a tree which was a little taller than the rest, a little stronger, one which was already well on its way to blooming despite spring having only just begun. Grinning when he found it, Jack sped into a reckless head-first dive, whooping as he felt the Wind echo his joy.

As much as he loved mirror-travel, nothing could beat flying.

Pulling up mere moments before he would have hit the ground, Jack landed gracefully in front of the tree, a light frost appearing where he did so. Hesitating for the barest fraction of a second, he then tapped his staff three times against the ground. The knocks echoed satisfyingly through the forest, startling a nearby deer. Smirking, Jack hopped up to balance on the crook of his staff and settled down to wait.

                                                                                                                                    ****************************

Aster was taking a well earned break from Easter preparations, tending to some Azaleas which needed trimming. Humming to himself as he worked, he couldn't help but think how good it felt to hold something in his paw other than a paintbrush.

He loved Easter, loved coming up with new egg designs, loved carefully hiding them for the kids and he especially loved the expression on the ankle-biters' faces when they found them but, this close to his holiday, Aster could admit things were a little a stressful. He himself was wound tighter than a jack-in-the-box ready to spring. So he was thoroughly enjoying the time he had set aside for a little gardening in order to relax.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Aster tensed, his long ears turning towards the tunnel he used to travel to North America where the knocking had come from.

"What on earth...?"�

He took a few steps closer to the tunnel then stopped, listening hard to see if the sound would come again. It did. Slightly harder and more insistent this time.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Aster could count on one paw the number of people who knew how to find the North American entrance to the Warren, all of whom knew better than to disturb him this close to Easter. _All except one_ , Aster thought as a suspicion grew in his mind, _bloody wanker_.

As if to confirm his suspicions, a cold wind that had no business being in _his_ warren blew through the tunnel, swirling around Aster. It brought with it the crisp scent of pine and freshly fallen snow.

Setting off at a break neck pace, Aster raced along his tunnel, his curses so colourful they'd have made a sailor blush.Then the noise came again.

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

Frustrated, Aster yelled, "Alright, alright, I'm coming ya drongo!"� and redoubled his pace _. Frost better have a bloody good reason for calling me._

****************************

From his perch on his staff, Jack watched as a tunnel opened up in front of the tree and a familiar looking figure jumped out. Aster was obviously expecting danger, his body held in a loose defensive stance and his boomerangs out. Running his eyes over Aster's body, Jack whistled appreciatively. Aster was attractive in any circumstance-all toned muscle covered by sleek fur and green, green eyes-but an Aster prepared for battle? Well, it was a sight to bring a hot flush to anyone's face, even if they were a winter spirit.

"Looking good Cottontail."�The scowl Jack received in response was truly impressive. "Now tell me, are those boomerangs because you think I'm a danger, or because you thought I might be _in_ danger?"�

It was a valid question. Aster was one of the few beings alive that knew the real identity of Jack Frost and though Jack would like to think they were at a stage where the Pooka wasn't afraid of him, it was quite possible they weren't. After all, their relationship hadn't gotten off to the most auspicious of starts, what with Jack almost ruining Easter and all. _And then of course, there's that whole thing about me being a deadly assassin, thought Jack._

Still, all things considered, their relationship was pretty good right now. Almost cordial in fact and, considering the reason Jack was here, he thought it was about to get a whole lot better. He watched as Aster did a final check of their surroundings before sheathing his boomerangs.

"Well now Frostbite, the only plausible reason I could think of as to why you would disturb me this close to Easter was because you were in some sort of life threatening danger. This doesn't seem to be the case so you better start talking and it better be good or else we'll have to revisit the whole life threatening danger thing." Aster's voice was deadly quiet and his eyes were narrowed as he glared at Jack but the winter spirit wasn't too worried. He knew he wasn't in too much trouble otherwise Aster wouldn't have bothered to put his boomerangs away. Still, he made sure the Wind was ready to carry him off at a moment's notice-he'd learnt the hard way to never underestimate the Pooka.

"My life might not be in danger but I know someone's who is..."� Jack sing-songed, balancing on his staff at an impossible angle simply because he knew how much it annoyed Aster

"What on earth are you talking about ya bloody show pony"�

"Well, it's possible that I just received a visit from a certain King of Nightmares, it's also possible he wanted to make use of Â my ah, shall we say, services and it's also possible he wanted these services to be used on a certain someone you're well acquainted with. A certain Guardian of Wonder....â€�Jack trailed off, satisfied as he saw Aster go from annoyed to sharply focussed in the blink of an eye.

"Are we talking about possibilities, or certainties here Jack?"�

Mirroring Aster's seriousness, Jack dropped to the ground and straightened up, revealing his own razor sharp focus.

"Certainties"�

Quickly surmising the events of Pitch's visit, Jack explained the contract he'd accepted and what he suspected about Pitch's plans.

"Bloody fucking fuck!" Was Aster's eloquent response. "I thought we'd seen the last of that wanker after the dark ages."� Bunny ran a paw over his left ear, pulling on it slightly as he was inclined to do when stressed. "And this close to me holiday too!"�

Jack shrugged, "Tactically, it makes sense."� He raised his hands defensively when Aster shot him an accusatory glare. "Relax Bun-Bun, I'm just acknowledging the strategic value, nothing more, jeez. Anyway, you have the advantage now. He's lost the element of surprise, he's expecting me to kill North, which obviously, I'm not doing and you outnumber him."

"And we have you."�

Jack laughed. Hard. So hard in fact, he had to clutch at his staff for support until he saw Aster's face. Â Then he stopped laughing pretty quickly. "Oh my God, you're serious."� Straightening up, Jack shook his head and spoke slowly. "I'm sorry 'Roo, but what exactly about this situation makes you think I'm about to jump in to some sort of war between the Guardians and Pitch?

Aster raised one eyebrow. "How about the fact you're here at all? That you're definitely making an enemy out of Pitch? That you've accepted a Bargain you have no intention of completing? I,m not stupid Jack, I know what that means."�

Jack stared, confused. "Aster, I'm here because I owe you. That's it."�

It was Aster's turn to be confused. "You _owe_ me?"�

"You know, for '68 and stuff," Jack waved his right hand around vaguely, looking slightly uncomfortable.

Aster looked horrified. "Jackie, mate, what happened in '68 was not your fault. You know that right? And I  helped you because it was the right thing to do. You don't- you don't owe me for that. You don't owe me anything."�

A rare frown graced Jack's face. What did Bunny mean? Of course Jack owed him. How could he not after the rabbit had saved his life? The winter spirit shifted where he stood, fidgeting and unsure, for once in his life, about what to say. Â He was grateful when Aster began to speak again.

"Is that the only reason you're here? Out of some misguided sense of debt?"� Aster's voice grew louder, until he was almost shouting. Taking a deep breath, he seemed to collect himself and the next thing he asked was spoken so quietly that Jack had to strain to hear it. "Tell me Jack, what would you have done if you didn't think you owed me? Would you not have cared? Not come to warn me? Killed North?"�

Aster may have spoken softly but his eyes burned into Jack's with uncomfortable intensity and he had to look away. The assassin hesitated, unsure himself of the answer. Â 

Aster scoffed. "I suppose that's what I get for thinking I could trust you right? I mean really, what did I expect from someone who kills people for favours."� He sounded like he couldn't decide who he was more disgusted with: himself, or Jack.

In response, Jack felt his own temper begin to stir. He hid it well though, keeping his face blank and tone cool, adding an edge of contempt. "I've never pretended to be something I'm not around you. I'm not some sort of self righteous hero and I never said I was. It's not my fault if you can't accept that Cottontail."� The nick name was bitter in his mouth, no longer playful but mocking. Jack watched in hollow delight as Aster's ears dropped flat to his head, a clear sign of anger and distress.

"When Pitch threatens us, he threatens the children as well. You know, the kids you said you cared about. Guess that's not true though, right _Frost_?�" Jack flinched at the use of his last name. "Another one of your lies"�

Jack took to the air, reclining as if he was laying down on a bed and not hovering mid air. Then he began to lazily circle Aster, forcing the spring spirit to constantly turn if he wanted to keep him in his sight. One hand on his staff, the other tapping his chin in an exaggerated pondering motion, Jack said, "You know, one thing I've never really being clear on is how exactly you think you're protecting the children. I mean, cooped up in some hideout, thinking of new ways to bribe kids? I'd say that's more creepy than anything."�

"And what would an assassin know about protecting people, about bringing them joy? The only things you deal in are death and destruction Frostbite."�

Jack clenched his jaw, dropping to the ground so he could get right in Aster's face. "You don't know me half as well as you think you do."�

"No?"� Aster leant over the smaller spirit, body tight with rage and expression taunting. "I know that no one believes in you. You see, you're invisible mate. It's like you don't even exist."�

Jack reeled back as if hit, each word like a physical blow and for once, his face was wide open, the hurt and shock clear for all to see. Even Aster seemed surprised by the viciousness of his own words and he took a small step towards the winter sprite.

"Jackie-" he tried.

But Jack's armour was back in place. His eyes blazed with power and a contemptuous smirk played on lips.

"No, you're right Kangaroo. But then again, being able to pass unseen has its perks in my profession. Makes it easier to-how did you put it? Oh yes, deal in _death_ and _destruction_."� Jack backed up another few steps, his blue eyes meeting Aster's green ones. "Good luck with Pitch." Then he shot upwards, blasting wind and frost as he did so, so that Aster had to look away and shield his eyes.

When all had settled, Aster bought his arm down and stared. Huge spikes of ice radiated out in a circle from where Jack had stood, each thick and tapering to a sharp point. Several had speared a nearby tree, frost impaling the trunk causing a massive cracks that began spiralling out like a spider's web. The sound of the splintering wood sounded especially loud in the near silent forest.

One had come to a stop a mere hairsbreadth from Aster's right eye. He went cross-eyed as he focussed on it, unnerved in the extreme. After a moment, he tapped the ground in a well practiced manner, dropping down into one of his tunnels. For several long seconds, he stayed still, anger simmering in his stomach, but something else too-regret. Finally, he swore loudly.

"Bloody oath!"�

Feeling mildly better, Aster took off running in the direction of the North Pole. Pitch needed to be stopped. He'd worry about Jack's hurt feelings later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait. I think all my fics should come with a warning about my inability to update on any sort of regular basis.

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what you think


End file.
